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Wind really isn't the best to deal with this.
The Captain stumbles over his feet, clearly dazed and just barely standing where the - that - that fucking overgrown bilge-rat of a Fairy had discarded the jar. His complexion is pale, face pallid and his breathing is thin and nearly non-existent.
"Wars," he gasps, and scrambles over, ducking under one of Warriors's arms and standing upright so the Captain's weight is on him. "Are you okay?!"
"'m," Warriors says, cohesively. "I'm… hm."
He tilts, and the weight on Wind suddenly gets twice as heavy as the Captain swoons forwards. Oh god. He doesn't manage to hold either of them upright, Warriors a bit too unwieldy to successfully wrangle into a standing position, and gives in to dropping him carefully in the grass.
Warriors blinks up at him. "S'ry," he says, and Wind resists the urge to punch him. Oh god, his pupils aren't the same size, did he have a concussion? Oh, no, that made things so much worse -
"Stay awake," he says, grasping Warriors by the face. "Don't you dare pass out. That's - that's not good for a concussion."
He knows that much, but he doesn't know why. Oh god. The others were right when treating him like a kid, he was - he was so dumb, how was he supposed to help-!
Warriors's head lolls. Wind swears, scrambling to look over him. The concussion isn't the worst thing; his breathing is still labored and shallow. Wind didn't know the first thing about oxygen deprivation but Warriors's general appearance was freaky, in an entirely concerning way - his lips were literally blue. That was supposed to be a stupid over-exaggeration, he'd never seen anyone literally turn blue!
It takes a concerningly small amount of effort to pull the Captain's head into his lap. Wind's hands tremble as he presses them to the man's throat, right where the pulse should be - and lets out a sigh of relief when he finds it, weak and thready and fluttering. Logically, he knew it'd been there from the start, but feeling it lifts a weight off his chest.
"If you make me give you CPR, I'm never, ever forgiving you," he says to the unconscious man. He hikes Wars up higher into his lap, digging through his pockets and his pouch for anything - fuck, of all times to run out of healing potions? Now?! Shit, did he actually have to give Warriors CPR? His breathing was far too shallow…
Two weeks in a jar couldn't be good for anyone, even with the cushioning of Fairy Magic which Wind was sure Warriors would be dead without. Oh, god, how was he supposed to make breathing easier for someone else? Was there protocol for that? Was it like resuscitating a drowning person? Was it even similar?!
Wind’s better than the others in some aspects. The others don’t know how to take care of a common flu, or a higher fever, the way Wind did. He was average at treating injuries, better at keeping injured companions off their feet by tripping them with unreasonable amounts of glee. But there was a difference, a significant one, between a common injury and one like - like a punctured lung, or an amputation, or - well - oxygen deprivation. All of those needed specific kinds of care - kinds that Wind didn’t really know how to provide. He was learning, sure, but he’d always had a feeling that the others were procrastinating on it because Wind was fourteen, and shouldn’t be dealing with all this or something. Well now he was dealing with it, and he didn’t know how to help - if they'd just taught him, those overprotective idiots…
He takes a moment to thank every God he can think of that he’s not alone dealing with amputation. Fuck.
He hoists Wars up into a sitting position. He’s still very unconscious, and all the more unwieldy for it. It takes Wind some active effort to get - and keep - the man upright, and he ends up trapping him between his legs uncomfortably for it to work. He checks Wars’s heartbeat a second time, where it’s still thready but definitely present. Then, he starts the miserable, awful job of checking over Warriors's injuries, which is significantly harder with how the man's in an eel-like state of limpness.
There's a lot of bruising. A whole lot, which made sense given just how much the jar had been thrown about as the Great Fairy fought. Still, Wind’s alarmed by just how colorful the Captain’s arms and legs, where Wind can access them, have gotten - they’re painted by greens and blues and purples, in shades Wind didn’t realize bruises could be. The malnourishment probably contributed to how bad they were, if Wind had to guess.
There’s also - eugh, there’s a whole lot of brown encrusted down the back of Warriors’s neck that Wind hadn’t noticed earlier. Wars’s hair is ruined, yikes, he’s really not going to like that - worse, the brown is absolutely blood, and copious amounts of it. A head wound - Wind filters through Wars’s hair, separating the solidified strands in an attempt to find the source.
Ouch. There it is. Probably concussion worthy. Head wounds always bled badly, but the underside of Wars's delicate blonde hair is almost entirely covered in rust now. He can't imagine how it must have been - the smell of blood was one he was used to by now, but being stuck in a tiny area, filled with the heavy smell of iron, a lack of oxygen, being knocked around for two weeks… didn't sound like the best time.
Fuck. Wind would've never accepted the Great Fairy's help if he knew this was the cost. He's sure the Chain would agree.
He looks around for her now, eyes scanning the clearing Wars had been deposited in. He recognizes it as being relatively close to the Fairy Fountain she lived in, the one they’d approached for help when half of them had been badly injured and there’d still been hoards upon hoards of black-blooded monsters. Wind hadn’t realized that Warriors’s Great Fairies engaged in combat; he’d been more focused on getting healing. He also didn’t realize that that combat, somehow, involved trapping Warriors in a jar.
That did explain Warriors’s claustrophobia, which was glaringly obvious despite his consistent denial of its existence. It also made Warriors’s easy submission to his fate - again, what the fuck - all the more creepy. Personally - and this might be a wild conclusion - Wind wouldn’t allow someone to trap him in a jar for weeks. That was not normal!
"I'm not giving you CPR," he repeats, which is comforting. It would be far more comforting to just bitch out the guy, but it was less vindictive when his victim was passed out. He represses the urge to yell in the general direction of the Fairy Fountain. If any monsters still remained - and Wind was beginning to doubt that, given that fae kept whatever promises they did make, those slippery bastards - they’d be attracted to their location near immediately.
“I thought fairies were supposed to help,” he grumbles, checking over Wars one more time helplessly. His lips aren’t blue anymore, and color has returned to his cheeks; but it’s still faint from blood loss. "Not just - use ye as a little decoration and then discard ye here to die! Yer not even useful like bottled fairies are!"
He frowns at the man. He looks pathetic, what with the pale complexion and myriad of bruises; Wind feels bad. “You’re plenty useful. I lied,” he amends, less riled up. He pulls the back of Warriors’s tunic, unsticking it from his blood-soaked neck. Heartbeat still steady. Ugh, then why does he look dead?! “Just not in the same way as a fairy. And they aren’t harmed from being in jars. Unlike some fockin’ loser I know.”
He shakes Warriors just slightly. Revenge for being an idiot and exchanging himself for one massively powerful ally. They could've done without her. “You’re a cunt.”
Part of Wind waits for a response, despite how Warriors really does just look like a breathing corpse at the moment. That same part is disappointed when he’s not met with a dry, sarcastic thanks. He shakes that part of him and beats it to death swiftly; his problems aren’t just going to be solved for him. He needs to take some initiative.
Some initiative that doesn’t involve carrying Wars, preferably. He’s plenty light - Wind could carry most members of the Chain with ease - but he’s slippery when he’s unconscious. Even holding him up is enough effort.
He looks around, allowing Warriors to lean against him. No sight of the others, and he’s wary of trying to get help from the Fairy Fountain now - Warriors’s fairies were generally nice, they had their own unit in the military and Proxi was a delight - but the Great Fairy had shaken Wind up enough that he didn’t really want to see her for a… while. A long while.
Oh! Oh, he’s an idiot, he’s the fockin' - scallywag?? - piece of stupid fuck shit here - he frees one hand and shimmies his gossip stone out of his shirt. Oh, he's so dumb, he's really -
"Wind?"
"Oh, thank fuck," Wind says, and jangles the necklace with enthusiasm. "WILD!"
"I HEAR YOU!" Wild's voice distorts with the volume. "Where are you? We've lost track of you and the Fairy, we're by the military camp-"
"I have Wars!" Wind winds the cord up into his hand, so he's clutching the part of the stone he knows projects a video into Wild's screen. He points it at Warriors to emphasize his point. "We're in the clearing before the Fairy Fountain!"
"Oh, fuck, he doesn't look good." He can hear crashing and movement on the other end of the communication, the concerned voice of various Links filtering in. "Um, we'll come find you. He’s breathing? Anything you need?"
"He’s breathing. Pulse fine. Oxygen deprived. Uh." His mind blanks. Wind glances back at Warriors, who's still just about comatose against his shoulder. "Self-preservation?"
Wild coughs. "Running low on that." More racket. "We'll bring stuff. Don't worry, okay? Just sit tight. WOLFIE!"
"I can do that."
The communication flickers out over the sound of sprinting. Wind sighs, dropping the necklace and leaning back to better support Warriors, which is still unfairly difficult. The unnatural blue tinge has faded, but…
“We’re enemies,” he informs the unconscious man. Another little shake, just for the hell of it. “Time’s - no, Twilight’s gonna kill you.”
Warriors doesn’t reply. Wind’s not surprised.